


just a mess with a name & a price

by spiekiel



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: M/M, PWP, fuck buddies, movie quotes, some fluff just for kicks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 03:54:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1843384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiekiel/pseuds/spiekiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If nothing else, Mike wants to memorize this – the way Harvey’s eyes crinkle around the edges, the way his lips feel, loose and wanton as Mike kisses him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just a mess with a name & a price

 

Mike's heart punches against the inside of his chest. 

 

He feels like he's about to burst out of his skin, brain going a mile a minute without actually producing coherent thought, nerve endings hyperaware and overstimulated, and he's trying to catalogue everything but he can't, it's too much.

 

Harvey's mouth is hot against the side of his neck, his teeth flat against the underside of Mike's jaw, hair tickling up against his cheek.He tongues at Mike's jawbone, quick and hard, and Mike's fingers twist deeper into the back of his suit, groan muffled behind his clenched teeth.

 

Harvey steps forward, pressing up between Mike's legs, and the shelf of files behind them shifts slightly, a box above Mike's head threatening to fall. They both look up, and for a moment Mike can breathe again, safe with the rattle of the air conditioner overhead and the certainty of a locked door, a darkened office beyond it.

 

Then Harvey pulls him away from the shelf, lowers both of them to the ground and it's all heat again, frantic movement- and he never feels like this, like he can't keep up, like maybe Harvey's two steps ahead of him, three.He rolls his hips up, feels Harvey hard against the dip of his thigh, feels his stomach muscles clench as Mike gets his hands up past his vest, under his shirt.  

 

They kiss, open-mouthed, and Mike hooks his tongue up against the roof of Harvey's mouth like maybe if he sinks it Harvey'll stay right where he is, one hand crushed against the side of Mike's hip and the other braced against the floor to keep him up.

 

Mike tweaks one of Harvey's nipples, and the bracing arm falters, a moan claws its way out of Harvey's throat, deep and raw and Mike's dick twitches so hard he sees white.

 

He disentangles just enough to speak, his bottom lip still half-caught in Harvey's mouth, "Too many clothes."

 

Harvey settles himself sideways on one elbow and starts to work at the buttons on Mike's shirt, quick and efficient even as Mike reaches around him to undo his tie, slide it over his head and toss it out of the way.Harvey glances at it, pooled up on the floor, and mutters, "That's my favorite tie," punctuating the statement with a quick thrust of his hips.

 

Mike bucks against him, and somehow Harvey uses the movement to slip his shirt off of him, discarding it carelessly on top of his tie.The cool air raises goosebumps across Mike’s chest, and Harvey smooths his hands down his sides, the pads of his fingers dragging against skin.

 

He seems transfixed for a long moment, eyes fixed on no particular point, gaze relaxed even though there are lines on his forehead, worries etched in his mind that Mike wants to chase away with – 

 

Mike lifts his hips, rubs his dick slowly against the bulge in the front of Harvey’s pants, and his breath leaves him in a long stutter.Harvey blinks, ducks down and presses his mouth hard against Mike’s, eyes half-lidded and open, watching Mike’s face as his blond eyelashes flutter, and it makes sense, doesn’t it – that Harvey kisses with his eyes open.

 

Harvey sits back abruptly, his weight on his knees, straddling Mike as he shucks off his vest and sets to work on his dress shirt, fingers uncharacteristically quick, uncalculated.Then there’s bare skin, a subtly-sculpted abdomen and a thin coating of chest hair curling across Harvey’s pecs, and Mike wonders if maybe he uses hair gel there, too.

 

The corner of Harvey’s mouth quirks up, like it does when he’s trying not to laugh in court, suggesting at a smirk.“Like what you see?” he quips.

 

Mike grins.“Maybe I just thought you’d be softer around the edges,” he teases.“You know, clocking long hours at a desk, not much physical activity –”

 

He’s cut off by his own groan, forcing past his lips as Harvey grinds his palm down on Mike’s dick like a distractant, while his other hand starts to work at Mike’s fly, and _god_ , Mike can’t remember ever having felt this good before, the back of his head scraping against the coarse filing room carpet, Harvey a solid weight above him.  

 

Mike finds Harvey’s thighs with his hands, tries to grab at the fabric but can’t find purchase and ends up pressing his thumbs into the crease where Harvey’s hips meet his legs.Harvey works his hand into Mike’s pants, and it’s like the best high Mike’s ever had, Harvey’s hand on him.

 

Harvey pulls at him once, twice, his hand stretching against the inside of Mike’s pants, and Mike arches into him, his toes curling around air, heels dug into the floor.“ _Harvey_ ,” he manages, around the panting and the _want_ and the way Harvey’s hair has fallen across his eyes, wavy and still slick with pommade, “man up and fuck me already.”

 

The hand leaves his pants, and Mike’s dick throbs at the absence, because the limp drape of his pants across him is _not_ enough friction, not by a long shot – Harvey fixes him with a look, expression barely-there but smug.  

 

“Alright,” he says, digging in his pants pockets to produce a wrapped condom and what Mike is fairly certain is the tube of hand lotion that usually sits on Donna’s desk, “just remember, Mike –You fuck with me – “

 

“You fuckin’ with the best,” Mike supplies mockingly, squeezing Harvey’s thighs so that he lurches forward, catching himself on one elbow.  

 

Harvey smiles, big and dopey, too wide for his face and kind of lopsided, and if nothing else, Mike wants to memorize this – the way Harvey’s eyes crinkle around the edges, the way his lips feel, loose and wanton as Mike kisses him. 

 

* * *

 

Apparently it's not a one time thing, because it's Friday night, and Deckard has hardly left the Chinese counter when Harvey has Mike pressed into the white-upholstered sofa, his fingers threaded through Mike's hair, kissing the breath out of him.  

 

Harvey's back is warm under Mike's palms, even through the thin fabric of his dress shirt, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.His tie is gone and he's washed the pommade out of his hair, but somehow he still seems so much more put-together than Mike, who's still in his work clothes, all-but losing his head under the smooth push and pull of Harvey's lips.  

 

Harvey pulls away long enough for the sight of his flushed, swollen lips to force the remainder of Mike's blood to rush to his dick, and then he's tonguing lazily at Mike's neck, making Mike's hips roll upwards involuntarily for a drawn-out moment of friction.

 

Mike doesn't know how he manages to speak through the haze, but he's saying, "During _Blade Runner_ , really?"

 

Harvey makes a noise that's halfway amused, halfway annoyed against Mike's throat."You can recite this movie word for word, Mike."

 

"Not the director's cut," Mike says.He tries to tug Harvey's mouth back up to his, but somehow Harvey has gotten at Mike's clavicle, his nose tucked into the hollow of Mike's neck.  

 

Mike closes his eyes against the flashes of color from the enormous flat-screen, which is something he's never really done before - Trevor and Jenny and Rachel and whoever else would always be ruled out by Harrison Ford, before - 

 

"The director's cut actually has _less_ to remember."Harvey slides a hand up Mike's side, bunching his dress shirt and his undershirt around his thumb, and moves down to mouth at Mike's stomach, at the smattering of hair above his waistband.

 

Mike feels like he needs to do something with his hands - at least, do more than just run them over the wide planes of Harvey's shoulders.But Harvey's fingers are at the zip of his fly, and - 

 

" _God_ , Harvey - "

 

Harvey props himself up on his elbows and grins up at him, smarmy."While I appreciate the association there - "

 

Mike fists his hands in Harvey's shirt and drags him back up the length of his body, their clothes catching, and maybe he miscalculates a bit, because Harvey ends up half on top of him, dangerously close to keeling over the edge of the sofa.

 

Their legs tangle together at the knees, and the pressure of Harvey's thigh between Mike's is enough to make his toes curl into the smooth surface of the sofa, even though his pants are hanging only half open.He pushes up to kiss Harvey full-on, his fingers making quick work of Harvey's shirt buttons without any real direction from his brain, feels Harvey smile against him. 

 

"You know," says Harvey, when Mike pulls away long enough to slip Harvey's shirt off his shoulders, so he can get his hands on bare skin, "I was going to blow you, but if you'd like to negotiate for something else - "

 

"Yeah."Mike swallows."I mean, no.Fuck, just - "  

 

Harvey looks smug at the fact that Mike can't really form words, probably couldn't catch on to the movie dialogue coherently enough to follow along.He kisses Harvey again, like he can't help it, a hard press of lips, and the faintest brush of the taut skin of Harvey's abdomen against his feels fantastic, better than it has any right to.

 

* * *

 

The calm, Mike has learned, only ever comes before a storm.

 

He pulls the first shirt he can find on over his head, not bothering to check if it's his or not - there's barely enough light in Harvey's bedroom to see by, the sun just coming up over the city horizon outside the floor-to-cieling panoramic window.Harvey's still lying in bed, in his boxers, the sheets kicked down around his ankles by none other than Mike himself, arms behind his head and muscles stretched out for appreciation.

 

"So," Mike says, "are we just fucking, then?"

 

Harvey's fucking gorgeous in the predawn light, but Mike's not about to say anything, because he's got this feeling that he's living in an illusion, in an introspective mirror world that could shatter with the slightest misstep.  

 

"What else do you want to do?" Harvey mumbles, still mostly asleep.Mike's never seen him before he's had his morning coffee, and he can't help his mouth quirking into a smile at the corners."Play chess? Tell me about that dream you had last night that made you kick me, repeatedly - "

 

"Harvey, seriously - "

 

"I think I have some model lightsabers around here somewhere, if you want to duel."

 

"Was that an innuendo?" Mike laughs."You're a huge dork, I hope you know."He pulls on a pair of pants that is definitely his, because it still has the belt in the belt loops, which Harvey would never be so careless as to allow, even rushing to get Mike in bed after what felt for all the world like a full week of court dates and hearings.

 

Harvey rolls over in bed, gazing at Mike with half-lidded eyes.Mike wants nothing more than to crawl back into bed with him, bury his face in Harvey's shoulder and burrow down into his body heat, let the weight of sleep smother him.

 

"Don't act like you're not considering the lightsaber idea," Harvey says."You're very easily distracted, and last Halloween I had to talk you out of showing up to work dressed as Chewy."

 

"I don't know why you objected to that so much.You would've gotten to be Han Solo in that equation, you love Han Solo."

 

Harvey grins slowly."The part I objected to was Jessica as Jabba the Hutt.That would have been scary."

 

Mike's finished dressing, so he just stands under Harvey's lightweight stare, his feet still bare but his socks no doubt hopelessly lost."I was going to fix my bike up to look like the _Millenium Falcon_ , and everything."

 

Harvey snorts."That piece of junk? You're going to get killed, riding that around like some sort of adrenalin junkie, and I'll be able to say 'I told you so' about a million times."

 

"Don't worry," says Mike."I'm very agile."  

 

"I wasn't worried," Harvey retorts, sounding like he's offended at the very notion, and Mike's heart goes sort of sideways.

 

He leans over the bed and kisses Harvey, lips clumsy and still loose with drowsiness, Harvey's mouth opening slowly underneath his.Mike feels a strong hand on the back of his head, fingertips in his bed-head cowlick, and the arm he's got braced on the mattress is just about holding the weight of the world.

 

Harvey pulls away after a long minute, and falls back on the pillows."Yeah, Mike," he says, already drifting back off, "we're just fucking."

 

* * *

 

Mike is ninety percent certain that the deep-dish pizza box sitting on his coffee table is just an excuse for Harvey to come over and fuck him against the wall of his apartment.  

 

The crappy wallpaper crinkles against his back, through his tee shirt, and the light of the dim lamp next to Mike's bed seems hyper-bright, even as his eyelids flutter wildly.He arches out into Harvey, and his spine feels like vertabrae might start popping, but there's still a fraction of an inch of space between them, which is way too much.  

 

Harvey bites hard on Mike's lower lip, then soothes it over with his tongue, watching Mike's face through half-closed, unfocused eyes.Mike tightens his thighs around Harvey's waist, and Harvey pulls his lips away, hisses in a gasp against Mike's cheek.  

 

Mike turns his mouth into Harvey's neck, his five o'clock shadow scraping against the soft underside of Harvey's jaw.Harvey tilts his head slightly, and Mike sucks hard enough to bruise skin, salt sweat on his tongue, the musky scent of Harvey's morning cologne surrounding him.

 

" _Mike_ ," Harvey breathes into the open air of the apartment, his hands fisting in between Mike's shoulder blades, under his thigh.  

 

He grinds his hips forward, his slacks sliding against Mike's jeans, probably fraying the million-thread count, moves his hands to Mike's ass when he bucks against him, to hold him there.Another roll that drags Harvey's dick against his, and Mike moans, raw in the back of his throat, burning up inside his thin tee shirt, inside his apartment with abysmal air conditioning in the middle of summer.

 

He sets to work on Harvey's shirt buttons, his brain on autopilot."Off," he says, eyes flicking up to Harvey's face and then back.Harvey complies, holding Mike against the wall with sheer body weight while he twists out of his shirt.

 

Mike does his best to get his tee shirt off over his head without getting his head stuck in it, but he still comes out significantly more rumpled than he went in, his hair sticking up at odd angles, and Harvey laughs at him.  

 

But he still presses right back up into Mike's personal space, their chests brushing flush together, Harvey's heartbeat strong and steady, electrifying against Mike's ribcage.Harvey kisses him, deep and insistent and maybe a little rushed, Mike's hands buried in Harvey's hair, fingernails scraping lightly over his scalp.

 

The sound of the city traffic outside seems a million miles off, inconsequential and so small compared to the enormity of their shared breath.  

 

Harvey's fly is twelve different kinds of difficult to undo, damn his tailor, but Mike's determined and turned on out of his mind, and he's good at puzzles to boot.He presses back against the crinkly wallpaper to give himself space to work, and murmurs, "I want you inside me."

 

Harvey smiles, but he doesn't quite laugh, and Mike's not quite sure he doesn't feel Harvey's hands stutter where they're holding him."I hope you're quoting _Ghostbusters_."

 

"Of course I'm quoting _Ghostbusters_ ," Mike grins a little wildly, wraps a hand around Harvey's dick, and twists.Harvey buries his face in Mike's neck, rumbles out a groan that vibrates against Mike's skin, which is just about the hottest thing, except - 

 

Mike breathes out against Harvey's ear, ruffling the few natural hairs curled around it, "But that doesn't mean it isn't true."  

 

And Harvey steps away from the wall, Mike still wrapped around him, lean limbs and one hand down his open slacks.Somehow he finds the bed - not quite small enough to be a twin but no where near a double - collapses Mike onto it and disentangles himself at the same time.

 

Mike wriggles out of his jeans, and Harvey steps out of his slacks, out of his briefs, leaving him in just a pair of black dress socks.Mike pulls and Harvey sinks down on top of him, onto the bed that Mike hasn't made in a week, but he seems wholly focused on the slide and drag of their skin together, his eyelashes vaguely golden in the lamp light.

 

The tube of lube Mike keeps in the bedside table hasn't gotten a lot of mileage out of it lately; it takes a few seconds to pop the cap, but after that, Harvey's fingers are cool and slick and teasing Mike's ass.Two fingers in and Mike thinks he stops breathing for a flat minute, eyes falling shut, and Harvey hums above him, smug or satisfied or what.

 

He plants his heels and pushes his hips off the bed, so Harvey can work a third finger in, and the burn is incredible, alcoholic, comparable to and better when paired with the sideways smile Harvey's got on, the one he leans down and kisses Mike with.

 

A condom wrapper crumples somewhere near the pillow, and Mike's perception of time is fucked enough that it seems to be only a second later that Harvey's sliding into him, an inch at a time and forcing the air from Mike's lungs.  

 

Mike opens his eyes for a very brief moment, the barest suggestion of a second, and it's the last thing he expects to see - Harvey's eyes are screwed shut, his head hung, chest heaving and if Mike didn't know any better he'd say Harvey was _wrecked_ - 

 

He closes his eyes, presses down further onto Harvey's dick, and says, impatient, "Fuck, Harvey, come on."

 

* * *

 

"Don't act like you're not impressed," Harvey mumbles.He's curled up around a pillow Mike grabbed from the couch, dozing lightly, just about as far away as he can get on Mike's bed, which isn't much, when it comes down to it."I know I'm a fantastic fuck."

 

Mike grins up at the cieling."Right, I'll just lay over here and swoon."

 

The sun's just starting to come up outside the apartment window, and they should probably be slipping into suits, tying up ties, popping protein bars and coffees for breakfast.  

 

Instead, they're here, half-baked banter and the threat of an alarm clock looming, Mike's bike by the door and even though Harvey's Porsche is downstairs, he's going to have to ride it to work anyways - 

 

But Harvey laughs a little into the pillow.He's got underwear on, and those black socks, and Mike's wearing a Harvard Law sweatshirt that just sort of turned up at some point, soft and worn.  

 

Mike thinks, if this is Harvey's version of just fucking, he can probably deal with it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> obviously i own none of the movie quotes


End file.
